


(And I Would) Stay Up With You All Night

by YeahScience



Series: Sickdays 3.0 [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Emetophobia, Gross, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Siblings, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Vomiting, Whump, but lovable, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:52:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11544006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YeahScience/pseuds/YeahScience
Summary: Makoto Tachibana is watching the twins while his parents are out of town, but he comes down with a nasty stomach bug. The twins do their best to help, but have to call in the big guns (Big Brother Haruka) to come and help.Sickfic with lots of comfort, can be interpreted as MakoHaru, all out whump and comfort-fest.





	(And I Would) Stay Up With You All Night

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: emetophobia (vomiting). 
> 
> I wrote this as self-therapy for my own emetophobia. It worked! ^_^
> 
> Written for Sickdays 3.0, but I might edit to fit the prompt better (July 28th, "I Have Some Regrets")
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know how I did! I love hearing from readers, it really makes my day. Thanks! :)

It was Saturday morning and Tachibana Makoto did not feel well. Not well at all. Terrible, really. And he had been since he woke up. But his two little twin siblings insisted on watching the morning cartoons with him, and Makoto couldn’t possibly say no to the pair. With their parents out of town on an anniversary trip, he was left in charge of the house, and wanted the jealous kids to have a fun stay-cation.

            It all started with this strange hypersensitivity in the back reaches of his brain. He was constantly distracted by some bodily feeling, but he couldn’t place it. His brain just wouldn’t let him forget that something was off.

            Nevertheless, he lurched out of bed. The air seemed strangely moist, heavy, and pressed down on the swimmer’s chest and made him dizzy. His skin felt clammy, even though he felt rather warm, and the sheets on his bed had adhered themselves to his moist skin. He pondered, then shrugged it off as the typical hot and humid summer weather. After he peeled his bedsheet off his chest, and after managing to pull on some grey sweatpants and a loose top, Makoto shuffled out of his room. The air in the hallway wasn’t any friendlier.

Ran and Ren were already planted firmly in front of the television, sitting on the floor with heaping bowls of cereal in their laps. Their eyes were glued to the colorful images flashing across the

            “Onii-chan!” They cried in delighted unison when their strangely pasty-looking brother emerged from the room. He flashed a strained smile and headed to the kitchen to fix himself his very own bowl of cereal.

            But something stopped him. The Tachibana family, having two little kids and an athlete teenager that would probably eat anything you put in front of him (except for now) had no shortage of either hot or cold cereal: all the way from tooth-rottingly sweet and delightfully artificial sugar flakes to gluten-free/fat-free/taste-free organic oatmeal. The very words on the packaging caused Makoto’s stomach to contort and involute on itself. His mouth briefly tasted bitter and acidic.

            _I have to eat_ something, Mako grumbled.  With how much he worked out, not eating was simply not an option. He had to take care of himself.

            Begrudgingly, he poured a packet of oatmeal into a bowl and set a measuring cup of water to boil in the microwave. While he waited, he poured himself a glass of orange juice.

            The citric acid did little to nothing to help. Saliva had begun pooling in the back of Mako’s mouth, towards his molars, for some strange reason. But he gritted his teeth and drained the glass, hoping that the vitamin C would fight off whatever strange sensation was happening in him.

            That was his first mistake.

            It didn’t seem to go all the way down. At least a few drops of the fluid perched right by his uvula. The sensation tickled the back of his throat devilishly, causing Makoto’s chest to seize forward with a gag and a cough. He paused for a second, trying to decipher what just happened to his body. But he decided to ignore it and poured the now simmering water into the dehydrated oat flakes.

            Perhaps it was out of apprehension. Because that felt pretty strange.

            Over the ringing in his ears still residual from the gagging, Makoto heard his siblings whining and begging him to join them on the floor.

            “Come on, Onii-chan, the show’s about to start!” Ren pleaded with a piece of cereal stuck to the corner of his mouth.

            The oldest Tachibana muscled out a smile and padded over to the kids. He had a promise to keep, and a Tachibana promise is not something to be taken lightly. Normally, he would’ve given them a kiss each on the head, but the gravity of bending over likely wasn’t going to help his situation. And, in the VERY RARE case that he actually WAS sick… he didn’t want to give it to the poor tykes.

            The display on the television was nauseating in and of itself. The vibrant colors, cloyingly cheerful music, and the once-adorable-but-now-shrill laughter of the kids… Everything seemed to bore deep into Makoto’s cerebral cortex and send spikes through the aching and inflamed tissue.

            He drew his eyes away from the television and back to the bowl in his own lap. By now, the oatmeal had congealed into a lukewarm paste that was even less appetizing than before. Yet Mako still chipped away a few small spoonfuls and lay them delicately against his tongue. His throat didn’t want to swallow, no matter how hard the poor boy focused. Even when he finally got the chunk out of his mouth and it started down his esophagus, he didn’t feel like it went all the way down: like it had slipped past the orange juice from earlier and hid behind it.

            Waiting to reappear.

            _Nope,_ he thought. _Nope nope nope. Sheer willpower will get me through this. If it is something, that is. Which it probably isn’t. Yeah._

But that measly teaspoon of oatmeal was all he could stomach. And even that wasn’t sitting well. Not sitting at all, actually. More like bobbing up and down in the back of his throat with a timbre of sick, wet hiccups.

            Despite his best efforts to hide them behind the back of his hand, the nauseous explosions were getting on the twins’ nerves. With a sour look, Ran leaned over and doubled the volume on the TV. The blasting sounds only intensified the nausea, but Makoto did not want to move and turn the volume back down.

            The hiccups did nothing to help the situation. Makoto hoped that getting some air out of his noticeably bloated belly might relieve the cramps that were setting in.

            He grew aware of the strange side-eye from Ren. The little boy’s wide eyes had narrowed in suspicion and concern. Makoto gave a flimsy smile and tried to stare intently at the TV and wish away this horrible feeling.

            And for a few seconds, the hiccups stopped and his stomach settled. _Could this be it? Is it all over? All I had was a couple measly hiccups stuck in me? Phew-_

That wasn’t it. This was the calm before the storm.

            The angered organ in his gut clamped itself shut in a horrible paroxysm of pain. Makoto lunged forward and clapped a single hand over his mouth, but was unable to stifle the massive belch that ripped from his belly. It was sick, wet, and ended with a wretched gurgling that made Makoto question if he was in store for a second round of oatmeal. In reverse.

            Ren howled with laughter, oblivious to the implications. “Nice one, Onii-chan!”

            Ran did not share her twin brother’s reaction. “Gross, Makoto!” she adopted a stern, motherly voice. “Say excuse me!”

            Normally, Mako would have laughed it off, excused himself, and went on with his day. But he was unable to stop burping long enough to say a single word, just groaned around mouthfuls of rancid air.  

The swimmer stayed on his hands and knees and kept his hand over his mouth as the aftershock burps trickled out without warning or shame.

He was drawing closer to the result that both his brain and belly were trying to tell him was inevitable. _I can’t do it,_ he thought. _I don’t want to._ Makoto was the older brother, yet here he was acting as old as the twins. Just a little stomach bug can bring out the weak child in anyone. He was at the mercy of his gut.

Mako found himself wishing his mom were home. She’d wrap an arm around him, pace with him to the bathroom, and hold his hair back like when he’d came home sick from school. They would watch daytime TV the whole next day, with her lightning reflexes kicking in when need be. Mako wanted his mom.

            But she wasn’t here. The thought made his stomach sink and grow dark.

            Wait. That wasn’t it.

            _Oh. THAT was it._

            _Time to go._

Without warning, Makoto launched himself off the floor and streaked down the hallway. The retching had begun, each one bringing his measly breakfast farther and farther up his throat.

            Makoto careened into the bathroom, praying that his little brother had left the toilet seat up: which he had, thankfully, or this could’ve been worse than it already was.

            With an almighty heave, Makoto’s teaspoon of oatmeal went sailing out of his mouth in a parabola of puke, landing in the water with an aqueous thud. The little dehydrated oats floated around in nonchalant circles, almost mocking the poor guy.

            He anchored his mouth shut at the next heave, refusing to let anything else come up. But his brain snapped into action and forced his lips to part in a gurgling retch that brought up another wave of sludge. Tears and snot were now dripping down his face, as if the vomit wasn’t bad enough.

            There was a moment’s peace. Makoto, with sick caked around his lips, leaned back against the wall of the bathroom. The whole place seemed to be spinning and he felt he was in a giant centrifuge.

            “O-onii-chan?” Came the sweet, high voice of Ran.

            Bleary-eyed Makoto turned to see who was speaking. He could barely make out his black bed-head as she stood awkwardly in the doorway, leaning into the bathroom slightly as though asking for permission to come in.

            Once their eyes met, Ran padded in. She saw the mess in the toilet, gasped, and turned to her brother.

            “Are you sick, Mako?”

            Eyes closed against the piercing fluorescent lights, Makoto nodded. He didn’t have the confidence to open his mouth.

            She stepped forward again and laid a tiny hand against his trapezius. His shirt was already saturated with cold sweat.

            With a gurgle and a gulp, Makoto finally convinced himself it was safe to talk. He coughed out a hoarse reply, “Yea’, Ran, ‘m sick.”

            Her eyes softened and watered with concern. Seeing her big brother, who meant the world to her, broke her heart.

            As if on cue, Ren appeared behind her in the hallway. “Is he really throwing up?” he asked with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

            “Yeah,” Ran whimpered. “I’ll take care of him, you call somebody, okay?”

            Ren nodded dutifully and marched towards the kitchen telephone.

            Just in time for the nausea to rear its ugly head again. Makoto moaned. He didn’t want to puke. That was a given. But in front of his poor little sister? His dignity and paternal instincts wouldn’t allow it.

            His stomach sure as hell would. With a growling burp, he opened his mouth and lunged towards the toilet bowl.

            Furrowing her brow, Ran took the hair tie out of her black hair and began to brush sweaty and choppy strands of hair out of her brother’s face. She tied it behind his head in a tiny, delicate, and messy ponytail. Just in time for the guy to release a tide of sick and moan pitifully, hiccupping residually.

            She thought quickly and found a small paper cup under the sink, filled it with a few drops, and handed it to her brother. She noticed, as he reached out to grab it, that his hand was shaking.

            “Thank you,” he mumbled. He slurped the water into his mouth, swished it around, but spit it into the toilet as he couldn’t bring himself to swallow.

            Ren reappeared, looking successful. “I called Haru, he’s on his way!” He announced with triumph.

            Makoto looked at the little boy and could only muster the strength to nod in thanks. He felt sick as a dog. Wretched. But little sparks of pride and appreciation took the edge off the nausea. This role-reversal turn of events, being cared for by his two younger siblings, who were acting so mature and caring, really made Makoto’s heart flutter. He couldn’t have wished for a better family.

            Speaking of family, Makoto jumped at the soft knock on the door. _Haruka. He must’ve really hurried over._ Ren immediately shot to the door and led the ravenette towards the pathetic pile of teenager in the bathroom.

            The scene didn’t faze him. At least, not that the sick one could see. Inside, Haru was burning with fear for his best friend. There was a little bit of anger there, too, that he couldn’t immediately cure Mako. They both knew that the best plan was to wait it out.

            “Haru-chan,” Mako slurred, then ducking away with a fierce dry heave.

            Haruka didn’t bother to correct his buddy. “Ran, Ren,” he ordered gently, and the twins snapped their attention from their brother onto their guest. “You two did a great job taking care of your brother.” They smiled. “But I think he wants to be alone right now, so you finish watching your cartoons and I’ll take it from here, okay?”

            The two nodded obediently and marched out of the bathroom, shooting sympathetic waves to their brother.

            Elbow on the toilet seat, Makoto managed to wave back.

            “How are you?” Nanase cut right to the chase.

            Makoto answered with a breathy burp that brought him closer to the bowl. The soupy sick water rippled from his ragged breaths.

            Haruka grimaced and set himself rubbing the muscular and sweaty back of his captain while the other hand fumbled for his phone.

            “I’m calling your mom,” he said. Makoto nodded. The nausea had eased up after the first couple mouthfuls, but he knew that wasn’t all. That would be too easy.

            Makoto’s mother answered immediately. “Haruka? Why are you calling, is everything okay?”

            “Um, no,” he began. He felt the mom’s tension rise through the cell phone. “It’s Makoto. He’s sick. He’s, well, vomiting.”

            On the other side of the line, she gasped. Turning to her husband, she hissed, “Mako’s throwing up!” He grimaced, but couldn’t think of anything to say. They were abroad; even if they could get tickets home, they’d probably be back after the fact anyway.

            “He’s throwing up, you say?” Makoto’s dad called from across the room.

            “Yeah,” Haru said, looking back at the peaked boy and running long fingers through the matted hair. “Pretty bad. The twins called me to help.”

            “Well that’s good. I’m afraid there’s not much we can do.” Guilt stabbed at the mother’s heart. Her baby was sick, and here she was, unable to do anything. Instead, she just began talking rapidly. Nothing could stop her doting maternal instincts. “Does it seem like a 24-hour bug? Does he have a fever? How many times has he been sick? Oh, and tell him to drink plenty of water, okay?”

            “Here, you can tell him yourself.” Haru

            Makoto hiccupped sickly into the microphone. “He-ey, guys.” His voice was all they needed to confirm just how sick he was. The boy sounded like he was talking through a mouthful of marbles.

            “Aw, baby,” his mom cooed. “I am so sorry you aren’t feeling well, and that we can’t be there to help.”

            “’S fine,” he whispered back. Talking hurt the acid burns that were developing inside his throat and mouth.

            “Are you sure? Please, please, take care of yourself. Drink plenty of water, try to get some food down, get lots of rest. If you need anything, I’m sure Haruka can help you. Right?”

            Haru affirmed with gusto.

            “Take care, my love, please! We will hurry home, hang in there!” She blew kisses and sent well wished before Makoto waved his hands frantically, telling Haru to hang up.

            “Haru, I’m gonna-” As though he were leaping off the starting block, Makoto surged forward, head into the toilet, and released a vile torrent of fluid. The orange slime erupted out with such force that some splashed around and made Haru jump behind Makoto. The latter continued retching, each one bringing up progressively more and more viscous matter until the final ones were small hiccups that resulted in small threads of saliva and acid.

            “Good job, Makoto,” Haru hummed. “Let your body do what it needs to do, get it all out.” He ran his hand in light circles against his upper back, which continued to lurch even after fluid stopped flowing.

            The brunet whined, “Orange juice.” It stung coming back up, much more than going down, having mixed with his angry stomach acid. Some had even come out of his nose, causing him to sneeze and resulting in a stomach cramp.

            Haru offered him a tissue to wipe off residua while he wet a washcloth with cold water from the tap. He wrung it out, trying not to smile at the gorgeous water, and draped it across the back of Mako’s feverish neck. He sighed with relief.

            “Feeling better?” Haru prodded, rubbing the boy’s shoulders.

            Mako paused to consider, then answered weakly yet confidently. “Actually, yeah, a little. Getting that up- ” he jerked his head towards the toilet. “Kind of helped.”

            “Speaking of,” Haru mused, reaching across to flush down the vile slush. He kneeled next to Makoto, whispering sweet nothings and distracting the sick boy by playing with his hair.

            Makoto sighed, happy that nothing else, gas or solid, came with it. There was something he needed to say. “Thank you, Haru-chan.”

            Haru, despite everything, smiled. He turned to face his captain, who, with his sweaty and flushed face and acidic breath, smiled right back.

            “Haru,” Makoto breathed. The freestyler tensed up, ready to aim his friend’s head in the appropriate direction, but only a single word passed over his pallid lips.

            “Stay?”

            With utmost meaning and compassion, he nodded and drew his friend in closer, allowing him to bury his sticky face into the crook of his neck. His breath transitioned from ragged huffs into deep undulations that warmed Haru’s shoulder.

            It was going to be a long night, but there was nobody he’d rather spend it with. Even if that person had the stomach flu.


End file.
